Everything's Magical When It Snows
by Harmonicalock
Summary: A day in the snow at the Holmes household.


My last fic of this crazy saga ! God this has been stressful ! I wrote this when it snowed last week (because this is England and snow is a big deal, especially in December) and happy Holmesian snow feels felt like a good idea. (I also spent our entire snow day typing this up rather than doing revision like I probably should have but shhh lets not talk about that). This is the longest fic of the 1 year collection but it's also the one I'm most happy with – it had the most editing time go in to it anyway.

Thank you again to Alex, you're amazing !

Quote of the title – "Everything's magical when it snows" – From Gilmore Girls Season 1, Episode 'Love, War and Snow' (Because nobody loves snow more than Lorelai Gilmore)

…...

Mycroft woke to a small force hurling itself at his stomach. He barely had time to think before said small force started determinedly tapping at his face so hard that he was sure it would leave bruises.

"Myc! Myc, wake up! Myc!" His little brother certainly was persistent. Mycroft sighed and opened his eyes to see a mop of floppy dark hair and a small excited face staring back at him.

"Yes Lockie, what is it?" he mumbled. He never was a morning person, always preferring to come to his senses slowly and with a hot cup of tea, but if Sherlock needed him then so be it.

"It's snowing! It snowed overnight too, but it's still snowing now and everything's all white and pretty!" Sherlock looked so happy that Mycroft couldn't help but pause to look at him. Since the incident with Eurus, it had been rare to see a genuine smile on the little boys face which, the older brother thought, really was a pity considering that was all he really was. A scared little boy who had had his entire life torn apart. It had been devastating, watching the carefree child turn in to someone who had the weight of the world on their shoulders, or in this case, trapped inside his innocent little head.

Sherlock took Mycroft's moment of silence as a reason to keep animatedly talking at him. "Mycie, come on, we have to go out and play."

Mycroft pulled himself upright with a groan, being careful to not dislodge the 7 year old balanced on top of him. Sherlock was staring at him with so much hope in his big blue eyes that Mycroft couldn't bear to let him down. He broke into a smile, which the younger Holmes immediately took as an answer.

Within seconds, he was being dragged out of bed and downstairs, with his little brother excitedly talking a mile a minute about the white powder outside.

"We're going to have so much fun Mycie, we can have snowball fights and make snow angels and snow men and if there's enough we might even be able to make a snow igloo like we did that time a couple of years ago, do you remember? We made proper blocks and everything and then we sat inside with Redbeard but then Redbeard got too excited and ran around and knocked it down but you said it was okay because… "

By this point, Mycroft had stopped fully listening to his brothers rambling stories. Because that was all they were really, stories made up by a child who didn't want to remember the truth. It hurt him, to hear his little brother tell the tales of his childhood with his best friend written out of them. He was sure that, had Victor not have been murdered, the two boys would have remained close and spent many years continuing to be happy together. Victor had befriended Sherlock despite all the boys quirks and abnormalities , and Mycroft feared that his little brother would never find anyone quite that accepting again. In that case, perhaps it was best that Sherlock had forgotten all the good times, if nothing else then to avoid raising his expectations of other children for the next time they aren't quite so welcoming.

Sherlock didn't appear to have noticed his brothers lapse in attention and continued talking as if the world depended on it. "…and do you remember when I got all the snow and dirt stuck in my hair and it took us an hour to get all of it out?"

Mycroft smiled again, no matter if his peers thought him cold and unfeeling, he really did love his brother and he was glad to finally see him happy. "Yes brother mine, I do remember. Now, do you know if mummy and father are awake?"

A deep voice came from the kitchen behind him. "Yes Mycroft, we are."

The boys turned around to see their parents sitting at the kitchen table, calmly drinking cups of tea. Mycroft felt slightly ashamed for not realising they were there, he thought he practiced better observational skills than that. His mother, being herself, noticed his change in expression.

"Oh, don't you worry Myc, we were being quiet on purpose. It was nice listening to the two of you." Much like Mycroft, their mother had a small smile on her face. She to, he assumed, was glad to hear Sherlock acting almost as he had before the incident. The two of them exchanged a look, indicating their delight in the situation but before either of them could say anything, they were interrupted by Sherlock bouncing in between them.

"Mummy, can we go out and play in the snow please?" It always surprised Mycroft how innocently polite Sherlock was in front of their mother, especially considering his usual slightly hostile behaviour towards his older brother. They all knew that mummy saw straight through it, but they also knew that snow called for exceptions to any rule, including the boys standard sniping with each other.

The parents looked at each other for a second, as though they were actually considering their response. Like Mycroft however, they couldn't hold out on their enthusiastic little boy for long. They nodded simultaneously, making Sherlock give out a squeal of delight and resume tugging on Mycroft's arm.

"Come on Mycie, they said we could go now, come on!" The innocent look in his brothers eyes almost melted Mycroft, but he knew he still had responsibilities towards his little brother. Before Sherlock could start talking again or pull them out the door, he interrupted.

"Go slowly, brother mine. We have to get changed in to more suitable clothes first, you know that." Sherlock pulled a face, but almost instantly turned and sprinted upstairs to get ready. Mycroft couldn't help but chuckle under his breath to himself, sometimes he did love being a big brother.

He looked over to his parents before leaving to get changed himself. Now Sherlock was gone, he noticed that a few tears were falling from their mothers eyes. Similarly, there was a look on fathers face that appeared to be a cross between pride, joy and unconditional love. The three of them shared a moment and, although no words were spoken, Mycroft knew exactly what they were saying. They were overwhelmingly pleased for Sherlock, for finally being able to start moving on from what happened and for finding it in himself to smile again. And they were proud of Mycroft as well, for helping bring back what was left of their little boy and doing far more that would have been expected of any 14 year old boy, especially one who had been through what he had.

Mycroft nodded to his parents, before leaving to get ready for a day playing in the snow with his little brother.

Just minutes later, he was back downstairs, wearing the warmest clothes he owned, to see Sherlock ready and waiting for him. The boy was wearing his winter coat, the first time he had willingly put it on all season Mycroft noticed, his patterned wellies and Mycroft's old bobble hat that flopped over his eyes.

Mycroft smiled to himself yet again, only Sherlock could stand there looking quite like that, and he wasn't even sure what the 'that' was. As soon as he saw him, Sherlock ran forward to grab his brothers arm yet again.

"Mycie, come on, lets go!" Again Mycroft had to remind himself not to give in to the pleading eyes in front of him. He took a deep breath before looking down at his brother, he knew this was going to take some convincing.

"Patience brother mine. The snow isn't going anywhere. Do you know where your gloves are?" With a shake of the head from Sherlock he looked around, reaching up to pull the gloves off the top of the coat rack. He knelt down to pull them on to his brother's hands, feeling a pang of parental care. When they weren't arguing, Sherlock trusted his brother completely, just as much as he trusted their parents. The thought often scared Mycroft, knowing that he had someone so young and impressionable looking up to him, but moments like this made it all worth it. He knew he could never allow anyone to hurt his brother ever again, and he was going to spend every day of the rest of his life making sure of that.

When that was done, he looked back over his brother, checking for any item of clothing he might have missed.

"Lockie, you have to wear a scarf as well." Sherlock immediately broke out in protest.

"But Myc, you know I don't like my scarf. It's all tight around my neck and it feels all icky and horrible. Please Mycie." His brother pleading with him like that was hard to resist, or ignore, but Mycroft knew it was necessary. Suddenly, an idea struck him.

"How about this for a compromise, brother mine? You can wear my scarf, then it won't feel as horrible and you will still be warm?" Sherlock looked stunned at the suggestion, and Mycroft knew why.

"Mycie that's _your_ scarf! You wear it so you don't feel all icky!" Sherlock was so genuinely concerned about this, Mycroft just wanted to scoop him up in a big hug and tell him not to worry. But they had a long day ahead of them, and the first stop in this was to actually make it out the door. He reached out for his scarf and wrapped it loosely around his brother's neck.

"I will be just fine Sherlock, I promise. It looks far better on you anyway." He was right about that, the ribbed dark blue sat perfectly against Sherlock's dark curls and emphasised his light eyes. Sherlock was an adorable child, when he wasn't shouting or hurling insults that was.

Sherlock pulled a face, but quickly accepted the scarfs soft fabric and looked back towards the front door. "Can we go now Mycie?" he asked, knowing that all the grown up stuff had now been taken care of.

Mycroft grabbed his own hat and gloves, quickly pulling them on. He picked Sherlock's scarf up off the floor, grimacing at its rough texture, before looking to his brother who's eyes finally lit up in pure delight.

They pulled open the door and the two brothers stood for a moment staring in awe. The entire world was white. The bushes were white, the cars were white, the roads were white, even the plant pots outside the front door were white.

Sherlock looked to his brother before taking the first step outside into the snow. Mycroft followed after him, not quite expecting the feelings he was going to be met with.

Mycroft had been out in the snow before. Before his siblings, his parents had helped him build a snowman and explained to him how snow was formed. After Sherlock and Eurus were born, he had someone to pass on his snow knowledge to, not that either of the young children had been particularly inclined to listen. But, for some reason, no other memory of the snow could compare to this.

It felt, well… magical really. The small snowflakes pattering down on his face weren't an annoyance as they normally would be, but something like a gift to the world that he had been allowed to be a part of. The crunch of the snow under his feet, that he had expected to be nothing but a safety hazard, for some reason made it feel like he was the first person to be walking on a new world. Realistically, he knew that semi-solidified water compacting and turning to slush really wasn't anything to get excited about, but that didn't stop him enjoying it in a way that he never had before.

He was snapped out of his daze by Sherlock calling his name. The young boy was somehow already half covered in snow and had the biggest smile on his face that Mycroft had seen in a very long time.

"Myc! Mycie! Lets play!" Mycroft, with his new found appreciation for the white substance, headed over to his brother.

"How about we go for a walk first, brother mine? That way we can look at how pretty the snow is before other people come out and it isn't just us anymore?" Sherlock looked disappointed for a moment, but as soon as he heard that other people might be coming out, he immediately agreed. The boy had already had an altercation or two with their new neighbours in the short time they had been living here, and nobody wanted to risk Sherlock saying yet another thing that was going to be taken the wrong way.

The boys set off away from their house and towards the nearby woods that were wrapped in a blanket of snow.

After a while, Mycroft could see that walking through the snow was taking its toll on both of them. Neither were particularly energetic and pulling your feet through 5 inches of snow required quite some effort, especially for Sherlock's smaller legs.

"Lockie, why don't we head back to the house now?" Mycroft suggested. Sherlock looked up at him, his little face showing clear signs of tiredness through his enjoyment of the snow. As they went to turn back, something caught Mycroft's eye next to the bushes a couple of meters away.

He moved to take a closer look and saw it was a set of prints lightly pressed in to the snow. He glanced behind him to call Sherlock over, only to see the youngest Holmes a step behind him. He was so curious, almost to a fault, but it was a good quality for a Holmes so he was never going to call him out for it.

He pointed to the prints for Sherlock to see. "Do you know what animal these tracks belong to brother mine?" he asked him. In all honesty, he wasn't expecting him to know. He may be very intelligent, but there is a limit to the amount of information a 7 year old can absorb.

Sherlock through for a second before answering, unsure of himself. "Is it a hare? You said that they looked like that, with the two separate prints at the front and the two at the back closer together, right?"

Mycroft was brimming with pride. He had told his little brother about animal tracks in the snow a couple of years ago, but he hadn't though that Sherlock had actually been listening. But, as it turned out, not only had he been listening, he had been paying attention and even committed some of it to memory.

"Yes, it is. Well done for knowing that Sherlock." Sherlock smiled at the praise from his big brother before scampering off in the direction of their house to enjoy the snow once again

As soon as they neared their front yard, Sherlock excitedly addressed Mycroft again. "Can we build a snowman now Myc?"

Mycroft hadn't even had time to tell the boy yes before he was chattering again. "We have to make it look really good, like a proper snowman that you see in the pictures. It has to have little black eyes and buttons and we have to borrow one of the carrots for the nose that mummy makes us leave out for the reindeer, but she really just cooks them for Christmas dinner because Santa isn't real so there aren't any reindeer to eat them. And we need …"

Mycroft cut off his brother, knowing that he would go on forever without someone doing so. "Yes Lockie, why don't you start rolling the bottom ball and I'll make a start on the middle one." Sherlock nodded obediently, as though he was a soldier taking orders from his captain, and knelt down to compact a large ball of snow.

Before he could get too engrossed in joining in with the project, Mycroft knew there was one question he had to ask his little brother.

"Brother mine, when exactly did you work out that Father Christmas wasn't real?"

Over an hour of very cold snow rolling later, the brothers had three appropriately sized snowballs stacked on top of each other and carefully sculpted to make the perfect snowman body. Mycroft was exhausted, compacted frozen water was surprisingly heavy and difficult to manoeuvre, but Sherlock was standing beside him with a look of great pride covering his face. But, of course, they were not quite done.

Sherlock looked to his big brother, who passed him the twigs and stones they had collected while crawling around on the floor. The young boy one by one placed the stones down the snowman's chest and lightly shoved the sticks in to the sides. It was here that Sherlock became stuck. Because of the size of the creature he had insisted on creating, the head rested far above Sherlock's, just out of reach. Before he could ask his brother what to do, he found himself being lifted high into the air. Mycroft had noticed his predicament, but nothing was going to stop his little brother from being able to finish the snowman himself.

When Mycroft lowered his brother to the ground, they stood back to look at their creation. He was magnificent they could both agree, but there were still a couple of things missing.

Mycroft, being one step ahead in the planning as always, told Sherlock what to do. "Why don't you go and ask mummy for the spare clothes we need Lockie?" The young boy turned to knock at the door, giving Mycroft a moment to himself for the first time in hours.

The snow had stopped falling at some point during the rolling of the snowman's head, but the world still felt just as incredible as it had when he first stepped out the door that morning. The sky was a light grey, the cloudy making the world feel like one giant blanket covering everything. There were patches of grass showing through the snow where it had all been taken up in the process. This, however, didn't diminish the beauty of the snow to Mycroft, it just showed that it had been enjoyed by a little boy who was having the time of his life out here today.

When he heard the front door slam shut, Mycroft looked up to see not only Sherlock, but their parents dressed in their winter coats ready to enjoy the snow along with them. Sherlock with the final accessories needed to complete their snowman, stepped forward towards his brother. Side by side, Sherlock silently dressed the snowman and, when it came to the hat and nose, Mycroft was already there to lift him up. The brothers had agreed to keep their knowledge about Santa's real identity to themselves for the holiday season, giving them yet another thing that had brought them closer on the snowy day.

Their parents stood by the door, admitting what their boys could achieve when they decided to work together. It combined Sherlock's childlike idealisation in the design with Mycroft's careful execution in the well-crafted spheres and sturdy structure.

After a few seconds, their father spoke to them in his deep baritone. "Have you boys been having fun?" he knew the question was redundant, but he wanted to ask anyway.

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a look. Their morning had been unforgettable and they both knew it. Mycroft decided to speak for the both of them. "We have both had a brilliant time and I think we have done all of the best snow related activities it is feasible to do in a few hours." Sherlock grinned at him to let him know that he had got it spot on.

It was then that their parents exchanged a mischievous look of their own. "I can think of one more thing you haven't done." Mummy sung with a strange look in her eye, one that Mycroft had never seen before. Before he could think any more about it, he was hit square in the chest by a lump of snow, and a yelp from Sherlock beside him told him that his brother had fared similarly.

A shout from their parents set the game in to motion. "Snowball fight!" they yelled as they bent down to collect another handful. Mycroft quickly ushered Sherlock behind their garden fence before the brothers could get attacked again.

Mycroft instantly began to form a plan while Sherlock gazed up at him with his trademark glint in his eyes, waiting for the go ahead to attack. "Alright brother mine, we need to make a stockpile of snowballs to get them when they're distracted. As long as we stay down behind here, they can't hit us and we should have some time."

His last statement was almost instantly contradicted when a snowball came down and hit him almost directly on the head. He mentally cursed himself, of course mummy would be using her mathematical background to get an advantage over them and throw at exactly the right angle. Fortunately, Mycroft had been sitting in on a few a level physics classes recently and he too knew a couple of things that he should be able to manipulate to their advantage.

While Sherlock gathered a pile of tightly packed snowballs, he grabbed a piece of wood from the edge of next doors garden and did some quick mental maths. To anyone else, it probably wouldn't have come under mental maths, and neither would estimating the weight of a snowball or the distance from them to the house to 3 significant figures, but this was war, and things had to be done right.

While only being hit a few more times by their mothers mathematical ain, Mycroft explained his plan to Sherlock and they were ready. Sherlock moved a ball in to position on the wood and Mycroft carefully pushed on the end with precisely calculated amount of force. The snowball went flying over them and a grunt from their father told them that it had hit its target. The brothers laughed and exchanged high fives before getting back to work – after all, they had a battle to win.

Mycroft continued to load and fire the snowballs with excellent accuracy while Sherlock prepared for their final revenge. He knew this part was the only reason he had been able to convince Sherlock to follow his plan, rather go with the random throwing that usually made a snowball fight. Thinking about it, it may have been slightly over the top, but Mycroft knew that a Holmes could never be accused of being restrained.

The end result turned out so large that it took both Mycroft and Sherlock to lift it on to the end of the catapult. For a moment, he doubted how well it would work, but he quickly reassured himself. He had allowed for this in his calculations, and maths was never wrong. With a nod to Sherlock, the excited boy started the countdown.

"Five!"

He had never teamed up with his brother to prank someone before, usually they were designed to target Mycroft instead. He had to admit, it was fun being on the same side for once.

"Four!"

Mycroft heard their parents discussing what approach they should take next. It was nice knowing that they wouldn't get a chance to do that.

"Three!"

Sherlock was almost bubbling over from excitement. Anything he did on this scale would normally require more than 10 minutes for planning and execution but he trusted his brother completely, and he already knew this was going to be awesome.

"Two!"

Their parents had heard the countdown now, but they didn't seem quite sure what to be expecting. Considering they were raising two genii who were known to be mischievous at times (that was more Sherlock but even so), Mycroft was surprised they weren't slightly more wary.

"One!"

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other, enormous grins spread across their faces.

"Zero!"

Mycroft pressed down on the catapult harder than before, but just as hard as was necessary. The brothers stuck their heads above the fence just in time to see a giant snowball the size of a medium dog go smashing in to their parents, knocking them backwards. Mycroft smirked as he heard a couple of muffled words that his brother probably shouldn't be hearing at his age.

Sherlock let out a cheer and Mycroft hugged his little brother towards him. Sherlock didn't squirm away as he usually did, but instead leaned in to his brother and wrapped his small arm around him as well.

Together, the brothers stood up and made their way over to their very cold parents. Their father was looking tired ad defeated and Mycroft suspected that a snowball fight had never been his idea of fun in the first place. Mummy, however, looked proud.

"Well done boys," she beamed once she had finally managed to get her breath back. "And well done to Mycroft for thinking to outsmart me at my own game." Sherlock looked up at his big brother with a look of sheer admiration on his face and seeing this, he had never loved his little brother more. Mycroft offered his hand to his mother, which she took and firmly shook.

"Well played." He told his parents. In all fairness, if they were playing anyone that wasn't their son, the basic logical tactics they were using probably would have won it for them. It was just unfortunate for them that no one could beat the Holmes brothers.

"Can we please go inside to the nice warm house now?" Their father added. The three genii laughed at his desperation, but even Sherlock was willing to take a break after such a battle

After everyone had changed in to new clothes and spent a lot of time huddled against the radiators, the Holmes family had begun to gravitate to the living room with their thick blankets to keep them warm.

Sherlock was beginning to start sniffling and Mycroft knew that he had caught a slight cold during their time outside, but he wasn't going to say anything. He knew his little brother would insist that there was nothing wrong and say that even if there was, that it was completely worth it, and there would be no reasoning with him. Instead, he shifted over slightly on the sofa and pulled his little brother on to his lap. Sherlock was too tired to resist, and snuggled in to his brother with no complaints in a way that Mycroft didn't think he had ever done before. He lay back and held his brother close to him, remembering his on-going vow to keep him safe from anything and everything that could hurt him.

A few minutes later, the Holmes parents walked in to see their boys curled up happily together. Mycroft looked up as he sensed them come in and Sherlock, feeling the slight movement, looked over at them too.

Nobody spoke, not wanting to break the moment of bonding between the siblings. Their parents carefully handed the brothers steaming mugs of hot chocolate, complete with mini marshmallows decorating the top. Sherlock dug in straight away, licking the marshmallows off the top, but Mycroft held the cup in his hands for a moment, letting the smell wash over him.

He vaguely noticed his parents sitting down on the other side of the room and bringing out a book to look over together, but for once he didn't care what they were doing. Sitting with his brother, after a happy day playing outside in the snow together as if they were a normal family, was all he ever wanted.


End file.
